March 31, 2006
SPRING IS HERE
...my current fave, fiesta red...you say tomato, I say rubato ... this color burnishes into orangey tints over the course of time...just like yr mama...
Spring has sprung! Le Sacre du Printemps!! Baseball, short skirts, and telecasters! After resting quietly, strumming a newly finished stratocaster for the past few months, I was alerted by good buddy Thudstaff as to the maddening aspects of the used guitar market. (sidebar to all used guitar sellers: you're all IDIOTS)
Hence, we've decided, with the diminishment of cold temps, and the advent of temperate, low-humidity climes (perfecto for spraying nitro-cellulose lacquer), to acquire and finish not one, but two swamp ash telecaster bodies. and if you're playing the home game, you well remember my agonizing journey last autumn through the spectrum of fender-approved vintage colors, before settling anticlimactically into a happy association with classic olympic white (still happy, incidentally)...
this time won't be quite as dramatic, as we're just talking about a telecaster here, people. also, since I'm aflood with instruments in black & white, I'm thinking about color now...so today I'm posting the likely candidates. I'm favoring fiesta red right now not just for the looks (hubba hubba) but also because I've heard that metallics are tricky, and I'm going to have my hands full. and hell's bells, muddy waters played a candy apple red tele...I'll be like, just one over on the color chart! I've got an old strat body that I might do in shoreline gold, so perhaps that will be my maiden voyage into the world of "flop." regardless, I'm looking forward to this next project...commence ogling...
...for thudstaff, the classic butterscotch blonde...
...burgundy mist (couldn't find a tele in this color)...yummy with a mint pickguard...
...firemist silver...
...in the ballpark of shoreline gold (maybe a bit darker)...an anniversary model...the finish is called 'hollowflake gold'...this model was sold only as part of a set of two (with matching stratocaster)...
imagine, a guitar to match my teeth!
happy weekend. wish me luck reviving my ill soundcard...session with the icewagon flu gang tomorrow....tonight: midi hell at the silver rocket lounge...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ANGUS YOUNG!!!!!
...
March 30, 2006
DARLING NIKKI
...sudden death...
Rather saddened yesterday to learn of the untimely passing of Nikki Sudden at the tender age of 49. It would seem rather unlikely that I learn of this via an obituary in the NY Times, as I hadn't realized that his career merited a notice of such stature, but then again I was a latecomer to the Swell Maps and the Jacobites...
And even more unlikely that there would be a NY Times featured obit on someone I actually knew. I had a little adventure with Nikki Sudden during the mid-90s. A college acquaintance of my brother's, a would-be impresario and all-round creepy scenester, was squiring Nikki Sudden around town, trying to make like he was "managing" him and land him some gigs amid yet another "comeback" for this highly-talented, slightly jumbled peacock...he ran into me. Said they were doing a gig over at Brownie's, needed to borrow some gear. So it was that I spent the better part of two days hanging out with Nikki Sudden. And so it was that Nikkie Sudden laid waste to the switch on my Rat pedal. Que sera. I warned him about running a big box acoustic guitar into a fuzzbox. Of course, after he had finished banging the crap out of my pedal, he realized that he needed to turn on the switch in the guitar's preamp.
But all that aside, I found him to be a voluble, charming, and, as it happens, quite well-read conversationalist and all-round bon vivant. The post-gig drinks were flowing, I was asking him about production techniques (his brother, Epic Soundtracks, was quite the tonemeister) on various Swell Maps cuts, and we had a rather fine time of it.
When Nikki learned that my apartment was across the street from the bar, he asked me if I had any drugs. I didn't. At least not the sort he was interested in...and so it was that I went upstairs to retire and sleep off my usual drunk, while Nikki went forth in to the night. He was only 49. Really a shame. Good guy.
...
March 29, 2006
LESTER LEAPS IN
...very similar, except the fret blocks are mother of pearl...
interesting developments in guitar news lately:
Guitar Rig 2. I've been waiting patiently for a software concern to arrive at a program suite that covers the basics (something that up until now has been hinted at via individual plugins, but always with some degree of hardware--amps, stomp pedals, etc.--involved) of preamp/power amp, speaker types, effects, etc. in a complete package. this is the closest I've found as of yet. it is, to put it mildly, a trip. not surprising that it comes from the smarty pants people over at native instruments...
1974 Les Paul Custom. I own one. It's a rare bird too, with a maple fretboard. Played it for years. Love it. Damn thing weighs a ton though, and the pots are old and dirty, the pickups a bit on the microphonic side. Ergo, I've been spending my time these past few years with various strats and telecasters. However, the fact still remains: I own a sweet-ass vintage Gibson Les Paul. I should be playing it more. Over the past few days I've been investigating the world of the humbucker replacement pickup (for the bridge). I've discovered that the california metal spandex sensibility is still alive and well, and crowding out the good stuff are these tacky ultra-overwound products that I have no need nor interest in. So I'll start by replacing the old pots and see how it sounds. This guitar is a player and a looker. Watch this space in coming days/weeks for new guitar porn featuring this model.
New guitar build project. Potential for new guitar finishing project: Thudstaff wants a workhorse tele. the flaky idjuts on craigs list have tried his patience sufficiently that he's open to the idea of constructing one from scratch--a classic butterscotch/black pickguard telecaster. And I'm thinking that if we're already going to be setting up another lacquer finishing shop out back, we might as well paint two of 'em....stay tuned...
...
March 28, 2006
THE CARD CHEAT
...former GM exec...chickenhawk...katrina mismanager...crony...fall guy...
Hey now! It's legend of stage and screen, mr. paul williams! Hey Paul: how are you coping with the resignation of White House Chief of Staff, Andy Card?
wrapped around the music is the sound of someone promising they'll never go, You'll swear you've heard it before as it slowly rambles on and on, No need in bringing 'em back 'cause they've never really gone...
Would you conclude that his years in the white house were effective? did he do a good job?
Long ago and oh so far away, In the land of I told you so, Lived a man named you'll get nothing from me, Awful weak so he acted strong, And he never learned to get along, Yes he tried but of course he couldn't see...
Some are saying that this is a purely political, calculated move, that his replacement is just another member of the administration staff, that nothing has really changed...in retrospect, what are your feelings on this move?
I should have known that you would treat me this way, I should have known I should have stayed alone, If I just used my head I'd have sent you away, If only somehow I knew what I know now...
Before his promotion, Joshua Bolten was the budget director. Given that this administration's budget has been outrageous in its propensity to spend untold billions of dollars and run up the largest deficit in history, what are your thoughts on this promotion? What do you think of Mr. Bolten?
In the land of get the other guy, To the south of it's not my fault, Lived a fellow a lot like you and me, Made believe he was mean and bad, Always laughed when he made somebody mad, Never goin' to let that happen to me...
Mr. Williams, as always we appreciate your time and feel priveleged to benefit from the wisdom gained from your many years on the bandstand. With the country at war, faced with huge fiscal problems and a leadership that is as inflexible as it is secretive, do you have any rays of sunshine you'd care to share before we close this interview?
Sure you've hit the bottom, But remember you'll be building from the ground up, Ev'ry day's another step, That takes you even closer to the sky, so give a try...
Ladies and gentlemen, a nice round of applause for mr. paul williams....
...
March 27, 2006
ACT NATURALLY
...at the top of his game, mid-1960s...
the great Buck Owens, 1929-2006.
Buck claimed that the overexposure from Hee Haw killed his record sales, as he went from performing three songs a week to performing mostly comedy. I'd have to agree, growing up as I did in the wake of Hee Haw's popularity, I tuned in mostly to gawk at the Hee Haw Honeys and hopefully catch some of Roy Clark's hot guitar playing. Buck Owens didn't register with me as anything other than a yokel buffoon. It wasn't until years later that I learned of Buck's importance in the development of the "Bakersfield Sound" (along with Merle Haggard, who incidentally married his ex-wife Bonnie), and heard some of those great records.
If there's a country music heaven, I hope Don Rich is up there waiting to greet Buck with a couple of telecasters...
...
March 26, 2006
TOMBSTONE BLUES
...drive is re-formatted looking for a boot,
mama's in the fact'ry she ain't got no shoes,
xp re-installed, waiting for code,
daddy's in the alley he's lookin' for the fuse,
wireless network up the fibre is lit,
I'm in the basement with the tombstone blues...
...
March 24, 2006
1983 ... (A MERMAN I SHOULD TURN TO BE)
... splash! ...
I don't know whether to play it or prop it up outside a cigar shop...
I've got a paying session in the morning and will be back online soon with the resurrected computer...O firewall! thy binary armor protecteth me, thy anti-spyware scan abideth with me, though the ancient maps of wireless internet elude me and darken my brow, I will fear not, for I am defragmented! thus spaketh the computer geek...
a happy weekend to everybody ...
...
March 23, 2006
ALICE
Earlier this week, a good friend of mine sent me (along with a few others) one of those emails that's intended to inspire and move the reader, except that I'd probably seen this story in my inbox about two dozen times previous, so I politely and quietly disregarded it, taking it for what it was--an acknowledgment of the human capacity for love.
In this week's New Yorker, Calvin Trillin writes an elegy of sorts for his late wife Alice, who leaps off the page as someone I wish I'd met myself. There is one particular passage that moved me to tears, sitting here in my mirthless corporate cube, eating a chicken sandwich. I hope that neither Mr. Trillin, nor my favorite magazine (it's a great issue, go out and buy it!), nor Alice, will mind that I insert it here verbatim:
"Once for the program at the Hole in the Wall Gang Camp gala, some volunteer counsellors contributed short passages about their experiences at camp, and Alice wrote about one of the campers, a sunny little girl she called L. At camp, Alice had a tendency to gravitate toward the child who needed the most help, and L. was one of those. "Last summer, the camper I got closest to, L., was a magical child who was severely disabled," Alice wrote. "She had two genetic diseases, one which kept her from growing and one which kept her from digesting any food. She had to be fed through a tube at night and she had so much difficulty walking that I drove her around in a golf cart a lot. We both liked that. One day, when we were playing duck-duck-goose, I was sitting behind her and she asked me to hold her mail for her while she took her turn to be chased around the circle. It took her a while to make the circuit, and I had time to see that on top of the pile was a note from her mom. Then I did something truly awful, which I'm reluctant now to reveal. I decided to read the note. I simply had to know what this child's parents could have done to make her so spectacular, to make her the most optimistic, most enthusiastic, most hopefully human being I had ever encountered. I snuck a quick look at the note, and my eyes fell on this sentence: 'If God had given us all of the children in the world to choose from, L., we would only have chosen you.' Before L. got back to her place in the circle, I showed the note to Bud, who was sitting next to me. 'Quick. Read this,' I whispered. 'It's the secret of life.'"
...
THE MESSIAH WILL COME AGAIN
...got my x-ray specs...
so last night was inspiring as all hell...after these several months spent exploring the improv headspace and stretching out instrumentally, to cram myself into the back of a bookstore and watch four veterans bang out heartfelt, garage-approved, guitar-centric, blaring salvos of loud poetry to a small band of scruffy onlookers, wedged between the stacks (yes, there was a marshall stack in the stacks), was a much-needed reminder of that old credo of "three chords and the truth"...and that the most effective and direct method of rock n roll communication is singing into a microphone.
I had a ball. We used to do most of these tunes in Doomster, so I found myself singing along, or running down my own guitar parts in my head. We had them pretty well rehearsed back then, so much of it came rushing back.
Next step: get these guys to come out to SYNKRONIQ and do some recordings...
...
March 22, 2006
LOOKOUT JOE
...bob riedel is a very handsome guy...sometimes he gets a little out of hand...
very much looking forward to a musical reunion tonight...a former bandmate of mine, bob riedel, is doing a one-off gig with his very first nyc band, afraid of the dark, who haven't darkened a stage, I'm told, in 20-something years. appropriately enough, they're playing a bookstore -- once upon a time bob & I we were in a band called doomster, and bob & rob (the other guitar player, who quietly and adroitly took me to school) often spent more time jawing about books then we did about music -- skyline books (rob's joint) is on 18th street in manhattan. 7-9pm. between 5th & 6th.
who knows? the hootenanny atmo that bob tends to foster just might scare one or two of the audience into the fray....but I'll be just as happy to sit back and listen again to mr. riedel's most excellent tunes. he is as gifted as they come...
THE TALIBAN FROM TEXAS
by Bob Riedel
(for Tuli Kupferberg)
(To the tune of The Yellow Rose of Texas --- anon., 1836, public
domain)
There are Taliban from Texas who want to run the world
Their crossbone-spangled banner's triumphantly unfurled
They trample on the Bill of Rights and mock democracy
The Taliban from Texas have it in for you & me
They'll say you are a traitor if you don't toe the line
Their friends at Exxon Mobil all think that's very fine
"Support the troops" means "shut your mouth & never raise a fuss"
Those Taliban from Texas will be the end of US.
They're pocketing a tax cut as big as all outdoors
To pay for Fox cheerleaders and other sundry whores
They worship "G.I. Jesus" and not the Prince of Peace
The Taliban of Texas want to be your thought police.
...
March 21, 2006
SEVEN STEPS TO HEAVEN
works is nuts today. taking a breather. today I'm going to feature a modest little credo that's fairly well-known in some quarters. It might seem dated, or formalist, or school marmish (I doubt I'll ever be go-team on the spiritual/God stuff; I'm still revolving around 1, 4 and 10, but not a drop in 21+ months), but the simple fact is that this short list has saved many many lives, including my own. Since there are still people out there who could benefit from exposure to it (I know a few), and since I never myself read the specifics of it until I was physically sitting in a meeting, I post it herewith. smoke 'em if ya got 'em...
The 12 Suggested Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous
We admitted we were powerless over alcohol--that our lives had become unmanageable.
Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
...
home machine update: new 160GB HD acquired for boot drive...the old one is so hobbled by spyware, malware, and basically so-fucked-it-can't-do-shit-ware, that I can't even do a clean re-install of XP. missing system files, etc. so to hell with it. it will probably take less time to install an entire new assembly than to go through the tortuous hell of windows help files, since the adversaries have now multiplexed into a matrix of baddies, each of which requires a two-pronged attack of cave-dweller codespew freeware, followed by a reboot and subsequent meltdown from another little wormgerm...oh how I long for the verdant fields of the initial install desktop image...that first bell-tolling of a successful boot, followed by the initial scramble to get my wireless router configured...until then, all posts from here at slave-to-advertising-whoredom-central...
...
March 20, 2006
JERKIN' CROCUS
...spring is here...
Once I was a sentimental thing;
threw my heart away each spring.
Now a spring romance
hasn't got a chance.
Promised my first dance to winter.
All I've got to show's a splinter
for my little fling.
Spring this year has got me feeling
like a horse that never left the post.
I lie in my room
staring up at the ceiling.
Spring can really hang you up the most.
Morning's kiss wakes trees and flowers,
and to them I'd like to drink a toast.
But I walk in the park
just to kill the lonely hours.
Spring can really hang you up the most.
All afternoon the birds twitter-twitt.
I know the tune. This is love, this is it.
Heard it before
and don't I know the score.
And I've decided that spring is a bore.
Love seems sure around the new year.
Now it's April. Love is just a ghost.
Spring arrived on time,
only what became of you, dear?
Spring can really hang you up the most.
Spring can really hang you up the most.
Love came my way. I thought it would last.
We had our day, now it's all in the past.
Spring came along, a season of song,
full of sweet promise
but something went wrong.
Doctors once prescribed a tonic.
Sulfur and molasses was the dose.
Didn't help one bit.
My condition must be chronic.
Spring can really hang you up the most.
All alone, the party is over.
Old man winter was a gracious host.
But when you keep praying
for snow to hide the clover,
spring can really hang you up the most.
"Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most" lyrics by Tommy Wolf
...
March 17, 2006
IF I SHOULD FALL FROM GRACE WITH GOD
...circa pre-st. patrick...
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
--Shane MacGowan
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse—
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
--William Butler Yeats
James Joyce, they say, had a lovely voice, and John F. Kennedy too. I miss those days of skulling pints, a shot of Jimmy, and you...
--Stratcat
The diaspora. Hell yes. Been a proud member of the global Fenian rabble since 1963. Much has been written about the contributions of the Irish people in their newly adopted countries, especially this one--the Irish brigades in the Civil War, the politicians, the union bosses, the writers, musicians and artists...and most of all, the workers--the sheer manpower whose labor changed the face of this country.
...saint padraig the martyr...
Yes, much has been written--not only because the Irish tend to take to the pen & paper as easily as clover to sunlight--but because much of it is true. And we're a damn proud and fierce people, having had our asses kicked and abused, our women raped and scorned, our children starved and neglected, all from the militant usurpation of our native land by an evil and tyrannical England. So we got out, swearing never again to be oppressed by the jackboot of monarchy.
...the big fellow...
But that's in the past now and we can go out today and watch a parade (being neither a fireman nor a mayor, I don't have much use for this particular ritual), or belly up to a pub (have one for me), or sing some old songs or watch "The Quiet Man" with the family or aggregate all your worldly Irish charms and try to get a little something happening with your non-Irish loved one. Our renowned ability to manufacture population is testament enough to the efficacy of our gifts regarding this last point. England, too foolish and greedy to harness our many gifts, in exchange for a few acres of rotten farming firmament, allowed us to cross the great Atlantic foam and commence interbreeding with every single sort of human person. So now everyone's a little bit Irish, and yet the sexual reality still holds--the fantasy of bedding a Brit (the fictional James Bond, played by a Scotsman, notwithstanding) fails to capture the imagination, despite a citizenry enhanced genetically by early invasions of blonde, scandinavian vikings. Small wonder, since the great majority of the English diaspora (save for Australia) are commonly referred to as colonialists.
...the drunk fellow...(welcome back to nyc--the pogues, tonight!)
So today New York City pauses while the ferries and trains bring hordes of non-Irish human cargo, sporting silly plastic hats and idiotic badges. nothing to do with Ireland or the Irish, except for the fact that we know how to throw a good party, but that's alright. I do miss the days when the train conductors and the cops were knocking back a little Jameson's along with the rest of us. Giuliani put an end to all that, the sanctimonious prick.
...any mother's son...
But all in all, with the noise and alarums and bagpipes celebrating the great migration that was made from starvation to building a nation from the mortar of spilt tears, I'd give it all up if we could regain that feeling, as a country, that we are united not as an inconvenience of differences--blue/red, catholic/protestant, jew/muslim, rich/poor, black/white, north/south, but as one country, indivisible. I'd like to see THAT party. All the colors. Because you know, green goes with everything...
slainte...
erin go bragh...
up the queen's ass....
...
March 16, 2006
BUILDING A MYSTERY
...I'll just stand here and limber up while you get to work...
After three days of frustration, reboots and various levels of success with the adware/malware removal, I've decided to rebuild the entire machine. This is a pain in the ass, but since it's my own fault for leaving myself vulnerable, I don't have much right to complain. However, it's almost always a satisfying feeling once everything is re-installed and back in place. And getting everything archived--all those mp3s, videos, pdf files, and various digital detritus onto DVDs, is a healthy exercise, prompting that first boot-up of the new system and its resemblance in feeling to the first day of school. Scrubbed, primped, as shiny as a new penny, and ready to despoil the contents at the very first opportunity...
all in all, a small price to pay for porn, er, I mean art...
...
March 15, 2006
BACK TO FRONT
...the mickey mallet technique, while tempting, is not yet warranted...
I have returned, ye bonnie strumpets, from the blood-pitched battlefields, the smoke of dying nations curdling round my cranium like a wraith of ghostly falsehoods...wait a while, so that I may immerse myself in the clear pool of earthly goodness and baptize this sickness from my dropping soul...
yes my droogies, the mothership computer is back to functionality...not 100%, but I can go on-line intermittently, and the spy sheriff junk seems to have been inoculated. I'm in the process of installing a firewall, but it seems that one cannot simply purchase software, enter the authorization code and proceed normally. The installer simply will not recognize the provided authorization code. This has now happened to me twice, with similar software packages (firewall/anti-virus/anti-adware programs from competing mfg's). I'll need to call and get another authorization code. Lame. And far from convenient, since I'm trying very hard to shut the gate on any future incursions from the evil spyware/malware invaders...
but I'm happy to report signs of life...
...
the ides of March. a quick review of the particulars of Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar" reveals a startling parallel to present times...a cabal of powerful men, united and encouraged by their agreement that they are in the right, stoop to committing a brutal murder in order to change the direction of a government and wrest power from a militant dictator...despite their conviction that they are in the right, and despite the success of their usurping, it all ends badly (which is why they call it a tragedy). sound familiar?
Blood and destruction shall be so in use
And dreadful objects so familiar
That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war;
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds:
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.
--from "Julius Caesar" by William Shakespeare
...
March 14, 2006
I SHOT THE SHERIFF
...this computer is infected...
I truly hope that a rabid colony of flesh-eating ants is loosed upon the genitals of those responsible for the spy sheriff trojan. here's how it works: warning! your computer is infected with spyware! click here. so you do that, thinking you're downloading the antidote, when in actuality, you're inviting bad sickies to invade your hard drive/system...
or something like that. I'm no expert. I leave that to the global geekery, who, after reading too many william gibson novels and taking too many upper math courses, concluded that their dungeons&dragons nickname would look real kewl flying across the screen of a computer they infected with their worm. so OK, you got me. I'll bring my computer back from the throes of this sickness too, and better protect myself. But hey, ain't I small potatoes? I mean, c'mon hackers of the world...after all the bluster and pronouncements of the 1990s, I've seen nothing to impress...where's the great global takedown of the international banking system? where's the brownout at the pentagon? where's the chaos? I'm not making suggestions here-I celebrate their impotence. But I've heard these things specifically mentioned in either print or in person, (the "hackers on planet earth" conference, or "H.O.P.E.," also known as the "I wish I had a penis" conference was instructive--like watching a high school chess club have a rumble with the cheerleaders, and lose) and so far, this is all there is, the sum total of two decades of study and diligence, the only tangible result being sore, aching wrists and knuckles, due to overmuch video gaming and masturbating, and once in a while, the hatching and dissemination of some bullshit virus that distracted grownups like myself will occasionally be vulnerable to, due to lack of time spent navel-gazing the particulars of the latest hackgeek user forum.
hell is a place where nothing exists but a roomful of people loudly debating the age-old mac vs. pc argument, until a lone linux user enters the room and proceeds to mow down everyone with a machine gun. then it happens all over again. forever.
...
March 13, 2006
OK COMPUTER
...there's got to be a better way...
first I get the bad cold, then stratkitty goes under the weather, then mrs. stratcat gets freaking tonsilitis and after nearly a week of bedrest, everyone is finally upright and functional, so now the computer gets sick, succumbing to a plague of viral invaders and spyware. it's bad. so bad I can't even authorize (i.e. pay for) the utilities I downloaded to clean the drives. off to compusa today, to load up on utilities. meanwhile, the brainiac IT team where I work emailed me that I have to remove "non-business-related items" from the "server." the slide rule set, it would seem, rules the world...
...
March 10, 2006
SOMETHING STUPID
“there’s such a fine line between clever and stupid”--nigel tufnel
THIS WEEK IN STUPID 3/06 – 3/10
Buzz Band Takes Legal Action Over Religious Tag LOS ANGELES (March 6) - Rock act Mute Math is so frustrated at being branded a Christian band by Warner Music Group's Christian outlet Word Records, it has taken matters into its own hands, self-releasing its debut album Feb. 1. And last September, Billboard has learned, Teleprompt Records -- a label co-founded by Mute Math keyboardist Paul Meany -- filed suit against Warner Bros. Records and Word. The suit is for breach of contract and negligent misrepresentation, and seeks punitive damages. Warner, however, might be somewhat pardoned for the marketing approach. Mute Math was formed by Meany, formerly of the unabashedly Christian act Earthsuit. Mute Math claims to have sold about 10,000 copies of its debut CD in one month, relying on word-of-mouth among its largely Christian fan base. The album followed an EP -- released by Word Records -- that sold nearly 30,000 copies in the United States, according to Nielsen SoundScan, with the bulk of sales coming from the Christian market. The act's buzz began when it played a string of Christian festivals last summer. And in October and November, the act supported fellow Christian band Mae. All of which would be just fine, but for one nagging detail: Mute Math does not consider itself a Christian act. A Christian Act? Like giving to the poor? Or forgiving one’s enemies? Or carpet bombing? What did the rock bands do back in Jesus’ time? Play just the Roman hits? It’s just the first item, and I’m already confused…
State bill proposes Christianity be Missouri’s official religion Missouri legislators in Jefferson City considered a bill that would name Christianity the state's official "majority" religion. House Concurrent Resolution 13 has is pending in the state legislature. The resolution would recognize "a Christian god," and it would not protect minority religions, but "protect the majority's right to express their religious beliefs. The resolution also recognizes that, "a greater power exists," and only Christianity receives what the resolution calls, "justified recognition." Welcome to New Jewsey!!
Bud to Yanks: It's a bad sign SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. - Whether it was a prank, an impulse by a beleaguered ticket office employee or another public attack by the Yankees on the World Baseball Classic, the sign posted at Legends Field Saturday apologizing to fans for the absence of Yankee stars from spring training games may have gotten the team in trouble with commissioner Bud Selig. The sign, which had "Yankees" misspelled, was near a customer service booth on the main concourse. It read in part: "We are sorry that certain players will not be present for portions of spring training. These players have elected to participate in the World Baseball Classic." It added that the Yankees did not support the event sanctioned by Major League Baseball and its players union and told disgruntled fans to direct comments to MLB and the union. Bud, Bud, Bud...can I call you Buddy? Little Buddy? No? I'd like to own up and say it was my sign, but I do know how to spell the word "Yankees," so I won't take credit for someone else's achievement in the sign painting arts. Sounds like the work of a Mets fan, if you ask me...great idea, poor execution, y'know?
N.C. celebrates confederate flag North Carolina marks Confederate Flag Day with a salute to the flag and the heritage many defenders of the flag say it represents. Not everyone wants the heritage to be remembered as something to be proud of, though. The Charlotte News & Observer reports hundreds crowded the state House chamber Saturday, sang "Dixie" and saluted the flag -- along with a Civil War-era state flag and the current U.S. flag. The event -- which the newspaper described as all-white -- was sponsored by the N.C. Division of the Sons of Confederate Veterans. Many Americans, black and white, see a link between the confederate flag and a pro-slavery, Jim Crow, white supremacy attitude, the newspaper said, but the flag is still honored in the south. University of South Carolina history professor Clyde Wilson said the response to the confederate flag is only a mask for a hatred for the South. Dear Mr. Wilson, It isn’t a mask. Love, Stratcat
Harris 'circling the wagons,' consultant says Senate hopeful cancels weekend appearance PORT CHARLOTTE -- Already trying to avoid the media, Longboat Key Republican Katherine Harris is now canceling campaign stops in Southwest Florida as questions swirl about her ties to a Washington, D.C., defense contractor at the center of an ongoing national bribery scandal. She later made an appearance at the local SuperJesus Rally and prostrated herself before a golden idol (there were corporate sponsors). While groveling, she revealed that her famously excessive use of facial make-up was due to injuries incurred during a hunting trip with Dick Cheney back in '00.
Blair: 'God will be my judge on Iraq' Tony Blair has proclaimed that God will judge whether he was right to send British troops to Iraq, echoing statements from his ally George Bush. Contradicting warnings from advisers not to mix politics and religion, the Prime Minister said that his interest in politics sprang from his Christianity and its "values and philosophy" had guided him in public life. Explaining how he managed to live with the decision to go to war in Iraq, Mr Blair replied: "If you have faith about these things then you realise that judgement is made by other people. If you believe in God, it's made by God as well." His remarks, made in an interview to be shown on ITV's Parkinson show tonight, invite comparison with President Bush, a born-again Christian, who has made a virtue of bringing religion into politics. But they also carry the risk of inflaming opinion in the Arab world, where the term "crusader" is commonly used to condemn Christian leaders who meddle in the Middle East. “Sir, you may criticize me at length for my lack of follow-through on the crucial quarterly forecast, but I believe that the mighty overlord Gorzon the Spectacular will ultimately be the judge of my performance in this matter. I bid you good day.”
DeLay Handily Defeats 3 Rivals in Texas G.O.P. Primary HOUSTON, March 7 — Representative Tom DeLay survived a challenge to his renomination for Congress Tuesday night, outpacing three Republican primary rivals seeking to capitalize on the criminal charges and ethics citations against him. There's only two things that come out of Texas: steers & queers...and I don't see no horns growin' out of old Tom's head, so he must be...but hey, they sure do love felons & failures down there...let them eat steak...
Jealousy Led Bonds to Steroids, Authors Say SAN JUAN, P.R., March 7 — A new book says Barry Bonds became a devoted steroid user who was motivated to start taking performance-enhancing drugs by his jealousy over the attention that Mark McGwire received during his memorable home run chase with Sammy Sosa in 1998. In "Game of Shadows: Barry Bonds, Balco and the Steroids Scandal That Rocked Professional Sports," the co-authors Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams offer a wide-ranging depiction of what they assert were Bonds's steroid involvement, his nasty temper and his obsession with McGwire. It's racism, obviously. Why is the man always trying to keep a brother down? As if nobody else has ever run up historically unprecedented baseball records at the age of 35 (excepting, of course, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa). Shee-it… Sue, Barry! Sue!
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March 09, 2006
DREAM AWAKE
...pick hit of the week...
recent exploradors on the internets have led me to this intoxicating little bill of fare: "Burn the Maps" by The Frames. Half the songs sound like prayers, the other half lover's complaints, and wafting across the landscape like a dusky mist are the parallel miasmas of pathos and loss. it dares to be quiet, and dig under the surface. it requires attention. it would, I imagine, be a great album to get drunk with. and the fact that these cats are from Dublin has nothing to do with that. (I'm sure.)
honorable mentions:
"In the Reins" EP - Iron & Wine / Calexico
I knew nothing of either band, except for one favorable review I came across recently. an interesting brew, certainly borne out of the early 70s folkie pop records, but with a little mexicali twist...I was beginning to think that the sensitive acoustic approach had been revived, until I was reminded that it has never gone away, by none other than:
"Prairie Wind" LP - Neil Young
old shakey's still got it, and this time around he really seems to have hit a particularly strong patch of inspiration. seems like the prospect of death brought wings of mercury to the pen of old Neil. "When God Made Me" is damn near perfect...
"Interstellar Space Revisited" LP - Nels Cline & Gregg Bendian
guitar & drum: two guys recreating the late-model Coltrane classic. this isn't a review, because I'm only just halfway through it, but jesus god what an undertaking! "Mars" (track one) is nearly as mentally exhausting as the Coltrane performance, and for a guitar player, that's saying something. this is heavyweight stuff.
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March 08, 2006
TENNESSEE FLAT-TOP BOX
...just like mine, 'cept not as purty...
I got nothin' today...work's been a grind, and while I'm grateful for the resurging health of mrs. stratcat (and the ever-present wonderment and delight of stratkitty), the gods of eloquence are lacking an altar today.
then again...
fighting end of day exhaustion, I've been working on finishing up a video score project (the infamous "mole/beaver" project), whilst struggling with the sub-60 degree temps extant in my unheated basement studio, and the difficulties thereof: tuning instabilities, dexterity challenges brought on by temp/age-induced stiffened joints, and I suppose there's a psychological element to writing/recording warmer-clime acoustic southern US country/blues/bluegrass styles in a cold suburban NJ basement studio.
bitchy enough? not nearly. and not today, since I come to this space not to complain but to praise the Gibson J-45. one thing I've learned about recording the acoustic guitar is that it's difficult to do sitting down. you really need to stay planted to one spot, since you're using a microphone, and proximity is crucial--move an inch or two away, and the volume/eq can change drastically. so last night, after coming up with a major key capo fingerpicking blues-along piece, I simple planted a single SM57 in the middle of the space, strapped on the guitar and ambled over to it like a good old bluegrass honky, standing up and leaning in toward the mic, rather than straining to perform the thing sitting stock still on a stool, which I find nearly impossible to do--who plays music without moving? I can't do it.
at any rate, I'm not quite there with a "keeper" take (the piece utilizes some techniques I need a little more refresher practice with), but this method of capturing it is making life a lot easier.
and what I'm capturing is made all the more palatable and toothsome by the amazing tonal voice of the gibson j-45. it's not quite big enough to be considered a loud-volume dreadnought like a D-28, and not quite small enough to present high-end fingerpicking articulation like a 000-model, but it's tightly focused, woody sound is right on target in between those two extremes. I'd always wanted a flat-top box that covered both these areas, and boy does it ever. this "workhorse" is just that, and right now it feels like the beginning of a very beautiful friendship.
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March 07, 2006
WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG
kirby puckett, 1960-2006
kirby puckett got plenty of ink after his baseball career ended, much of it involving police reports, allegations of violence and abuse, and other sorts of infractions. but unlike other public figures who put themselves on pedestals and make money from yammering about morals and such, kirby was just a ballplayer. human. but what a ballplayer! the most unlikely, squat little dynamo who ever kicked your team's behind in a 7-game series. his opponents feared his bat and his glove (I know I did), and for good reason. for a short while, he was arguably the best player in the game. he was forced to leave baseball prematurely (glaucoma), and has now left the world too soon. remember what he did between the lines. he played with explosiveness and equipoise, and joy. and in that time and place, kirby puckett was perfect. and he was beautiful.
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March 06, 2006
SOMETHING STUPID
“there’s such a fine line between clever and stupid”--nigel tufnel
THIS WEEK IN STUPID 2/27 – 3/3*
OLYMPICS RATINGS PLUNGE
If more people want to watch “Dancing with the Stars,” can you blame them?
ELIZABETH VARGAS INTERVIEWS BUSH/AP RELEASES BRIEFING VIDEO
Good to see that ABC is putting their best people on this. And not to split hairs, but with Ms. Vargas on the assignment, I’d have expected more in-depth questions, such as a closer look at the White House silverware, or what Laura’s done about those dusty old drapes. Also: Bush knew about the threat to the levees. he was told. beforehand. surprised? if so, email me. I have a bridge I'd like to see you...
KARL PILKINGTON
Ricky Gervais has given us the “patron saint of bewilderment,” Karl Pilkington. Nothing I say will do him justice. His blasé unflabbability is a metaphor for our age. And I predict that his “Monkey News” will go down in comedy history as a colossus in the art of deadpan.
IPODS ARE CRAP
"I love my iPod.” no, I love the music on my iPod. Which I put there myself. But I don’t love the thing itself. As a product, it is rather bad. Yet the American fetish for things, toys, shiny objects…give me convenience of give me death…has obviated the sensible and rather obvious notion that there is nothing particularly special about the iPod. It is, in fact, a product of middling quality, with fairly useless earphones and short battery life, yet it costs hundreds of dollars... The earphones deteriorate rapidly (mine got dodgy after two weeks), and battery life is designed to decrease to obsolescence just in time for the new-shoe mindset to kick in, as the upgrade process -- newer than new! -- begets new iterations of the same old thing…from the mini to the 10/20/30/40GB versions, and then there are the smaller-than-mini Nano’s, with various amounts of storage, and if that’s not enough, they come in different colors. Next time you see someone walking about with one of those shiny, all-white headphone cords, take pity. Just another sucker on the vine (i.e. it ain't about the music...)…if and when I convene a feature called “this week in greatness,” I might just tell you about my beloved Shure E2C sound-isolating earphones, which make the iPod tolerable.
NICK LACHEY
On this month’s cover of CARGO magazine. The empty, vapid look in his eyes leads me to believe that, for some in his recent family, the word “cousin” was synonymous with the word “sweetheart.”
JAMES DOLAN
Q: Hey James Dolan, your Knicks franchise is now officially the worst in the NBA! What are you going to do about it? A: Convene an official press conference and announce our official plan to do nothing. Being the worst team in basketball, while carrying the largest payroll, was part of our rebuilding plan all along. The bottom is right where we want to be. Isiah’s plan to ultimately put five shooting guards on the floor is already ahead of schedule. We’re already 2/5ths of the way toward our goal. Hey, more shooting = more points, right?
ACADEMY AWARDS
Awards shows are like booze. Just as soon as I rid myself of them, my life improved. Both are huge time-wasters (any modern-day marlon brando-indian moments you happen to miss will be available momentarily on crooks & liars), both make you talk about a lot of nonsensical shit ("...and who are you wearing?"), and both create pointless bullshit arguments. However, I am enough of a “Daily Show” fan that I caught the opening monologue, and watched the stars squirm as Jon Stewart bombed like a B-52 over Dresden. There was one good bit, about Cheney shooting Bjork. Ha ha. Then: “click.” Ah…bliss.
WORLD BASEBALL CLASSIC
It isn’t about the world. It isn’t about baseball. Nothing about it is classic. Discuss.
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* TWIS delayed this week due to illness in the family. new installment this friday.
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HAPPY 81st BIRTHDAY TO WES MONTGOMERY!!!
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March 02, 2006
YOU AND ME AGAINST THE WORLD
hey now! it's legendary star of stage and screen, mr. paul williams!
hey paul, with the violent quagmire in Iraq, things are on the brink of civil war. you might say that "it's only just begun." any words of advice?
... for all the times we've cried, I always felt the odds were on our side...
that's reassuring, thanks. can you suggest anything specific that might be helpful? perhaps a new approach to ameliorating the conflicting tribal ideologies and sectarian violence, which was exacerbated mightily by the destruction of the Shiite mosque last week?
White lace and promises, A kiss for luck and we're on our way...talking it over just the two of us...working together day to day...
that's a strategy that's already been rejected by Secretary Rumsfeld. what specific arguments would you use to change the Pentagon's thinking?
... Remember when the circus came to town? And you were frightened by the clown?...
that's a good point, but in light of the danish cartoon brouhaha, it seems unlikely that a circus analogy will effective at this late date...
... then remembering will have to do. our memories alone will get us through ...
think about the days of me and you?
Of you and me against the world...
Thanks, Paul...
Ladies and Gentlemen, a nice warm round of applause for Mr. Paul Williams...
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March 01, 2006
ASHES TO ASHES
...a recent sighting of jesus in a bowl of potato chips...
"Cast a cold eye on life and death,
Horseman, pass by!"
--William Butler Yeats
I suppose the above excerpt could be comically sourced to a fictional work entitled, “Portrait of the Atheist as a Middle-Aged Man” were it not the actual epitaph of Yeats' gravesite, situated as it were “under ben bulben”…I insert it here as it neatly sums up my feelings this day--the first Ash Wednesday that I am not observing as a Catholic…not observing, but it seems that I am still inclined to meditate on mortality, as per the old habit I suppose, whereby I can easily recall the annual recitation of “remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” a syllogism that I quite relate to, as it neatly encapsulates the two interpretations of mortality that I’ve gravitated toward over the years—the first, now rejected, is that of the humility required by the church because you are a sinner, which I’ve now dismissed as laughable since the entire enterprise of the church is based on a multitude of sins, perpetrated in concert by the clergy themselves (whose hypocritical continuation of the age-old myth of our inherent badness—original sin—versus the final judgment of the man in the sky, has tidily inoculated them from both criminal penalties and taxation); the second, which can arguably be said to be a component of this “holy” day (at least before one is throttled with the ensuing assignments of subservience, self-loathing, obedience, and especially tithing), is that humility which is arrived at via the realization that one is mortal, the awe-inspiring knowledge that one is alive, albeit temporarily, and the responsibility toward ourselves and our fellow man that must be honored if we are to aspire to become morally sound members of the family of man. And to aspire to the latter, the happy reality is that one need not line up for a badge of piety in the form of ritual soot on one’s forehead.
A friend asked recently whether or not I was “observing” Lent, even though I’m now disengaged from the Church—in other words, expurgate the ideology but retain the ritual, rather like a godless masochist who still enjoys the self-flagellation. I began to wonder if the holy writ, passed down as it were by bungling, superstitious, and (for a few centuries) illiterate humans, might have manufactured a typographic error somewhere along the way: 40 days in the desert? Or 40 days without dessert?
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